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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/28452096">Singular</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/LadyRhiyana/pseuds/LadyRhiyana'>LadyRhiyana</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - Royalty, Cinderella Elements, F/M, Fluff and Humor, Human Disaster Jaime Lannister, Sort of a body swap scenario</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-12-31</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-12-31</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-10 22:41:42</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>1,619</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/28452096</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/LadyRhiyana/pseuds/LadyRhiyana</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>There are no men like him. </p>
<p>Or; five times Jaime failed at being normal.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Jaime Lannister/Brienne of Tarth</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>48</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>139</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Collections:</b></td><td>JB Festive Festival Exchange 2020</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>Singular</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><ul class="associations">
      <li>For <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/users/TeaandBanjo/gifts">TeaandBanjo</a>.</li>



    </ul><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>Written for the following prompts: </p>
<p>Trope: genius/talent for one thing, a terrible failure at everything else; and<br/>Trope: an overheard conversation is completely misunderstood.</p>
<p>Dear TeaandBanjo, I hope that you enjoy these five little ficlets.</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>1.</p>
<p>“Jaime,” Brienne breathed a sigh of relief, rushing into the hospital room and embracing her husband where he sat up on the bed. “Are you all right?”</p>
<p>He flinched, drew back, and stared blankly at her. “What is this place?” he asked, his voice curiously accented. He held up his right hand, flexed his fingers, turned his wrist this way and that. “What sorcery is this?”</p>
<p>“What are you talking about?” Brienne caught his hand, tangled their fingers together. “Jaime, there’s no sorcery. We were visiting Harrenhal, remember? You slipped in the medieval baths and hit your head.”</p>
<p>“Yes,” he said distantly. “The baths. I must thank you for not leaving me to drown. A most undignified way to die.”</p>
<p>Brienne frowned, stared into his green eyes, searching for – she did not know what. He looked exactly the same, but his accent and manner of speech had changed, and he seemed crueller and more cynical, somehow, his mouth twisted with some unknown anger –</p>
<p>“Jaime,” she said slowly, “what’s the last thing you remember?”</p>
<p>**</p>
<p>2.</p>
<p>“...have you seen her legs in soccer shorts? And those <em>shoulders</em>? They’re wider than mine!”</p>
<p>Brienne stopped short, hunching her shoulders and trying to fade into the shadows. The voices were coming nearer, and she was terribly afraid she knew who was speaking.</p>
<p>“She’s built like a tank, Addam,” Jaime said, his eyes bright and laughing. “Unstoppable, slowly and patiently bulldozing every obstacle in her path –”</p>
<p>Brienne felt a horrible sinking feeling in the pit of her stomach. Her eyes burned, and her throat closed up with choked tears. She wanted to sink into the ground and disappear.</p>
<p>Only an hour ago, Jaime had laughed in delight, picked her up and whirled her around after she’d scored the winning goal, putting their team into the finals. He’d held her close, stared deep into her eyes, and she’d thought –</p>
<p>Addam Marbrand turned his head and caught her gaze, saw her huddling in the shadows. His eyes widened, and he put his finger to his lips.</p>
<p>“Jaime, you’re a wizard on the field, but you’re absolutely clueless,” he sighed, shaking his head. “Is this your incredibly inept way of saying you like Brienne?”</p>
<p>Jaime stopped in his tracks. “What? Of course! Have you not listened to me rhapsodising over her for the past ten minutes?”</p>
<p><em>Oh, </em>Brienne thought. <em>Jaime, you idiot!</em></p>
<p>Behind Jaime’s shoulder, Addam rolled his eyes at her. “You compared her to a tank.”</p>
<p>“What’s wrong with that? I’d love her to bulldoze me, slow and patient.”</p>
<p>**</p>
<p>3.</p>
<p>Brienne can’t cook.</p>
<p>“That’s okay,” Jaime said, with a cheerful smile. “The cooks at Casterly Rock taught me.”</p>
<p>In ten minutes, he took the leftovers from the fridge and whipped up a gourmet omelette.</p>
<p>Brienne can’t sew.</p>
<p>“No problems,” Jaime said, grinning wickedly. “Cersei and I used to share lessons, you know.”</p>
<p>He took out a dainty ladies’ sewing kit and stitched her hem up, beaming proudly at his neat work. “If you want, I can embroider a line of starbursts and crescent moons for you as well.”</p>
<p>Brienne can’t arrange flowers.</p>
<p>“Don’t tell me: you learned flower arranging from your mother,” she muttered.</p>
<p>“Well, I did,” he said, laughing at her.</p>
<p>He took the cut flowers and slipped them into a narrow vase, somehow creating a perfectly balanced, tasteful bouquet.</p>
<p>But –</p>
<p>Jaime can’t clean.</p>
<p>“Don’t tell me you don’t know how to use a vacuum cleaner,” she exclaimed, throwing up her hands. “Or even a mop or a broom?”</p>
<p>“We always had servants,” he said, as if it explained everything.</p>
<p>Perhaps it did.</p>
<p>**</p>
<p>4.</p>
<p>When Jaime was thirty-two years old, he brought Brienne home to meet his family.</p>
<p>She knew that his last name was Lannister. She knew that he was rich.</p>
<p>When he’d spoken of his childhood home, he’d said that he lived near Lannisport. (Well, that was true enough.) He’d said that his family was an old one (also true) and that they were in the mining business (an understatement).</p>
<p>He’d not mentioned anything about a <em>castle</em>. Or a portrait gallery. Or the Hall of Heroes, where the Kings of the Rock once ruled from a golden throne.</p>
<p>“None of that matters when I’m with you,” he said, taking her hand and threading their fingers together. “When I’m alone with you, I feel as though I could be Jaime Lannister or Jaime Hill or even Jaime of no house at all, and you would still see <em>me</em>.”</p>
<p>**</p>
<p>5.</p>
<p>King Jaime of House Lannister, the First of His Name, King of the Andals, the Rhoynar and the First Men, was thirty-two years old, handsome and unwed.</p>
<p>He was a good king. The people of Westeros were rather fond of him: he had come to power by deposing a mad tyrant and had done nothing controversial since; he smiled and waved and was generally gracious; he was amazingly photogenic, and looked very good on a white horse.</p>
<p>The media adored him. Public approval ratings were higher than they had ever been. But –</p>
<p>**</p>
<p>“It’s not enough,” Cersei said. She examined Jaime through narrowed green eyes. “We need to give the people a fairy tale.”</p>
<p>Jaime sighed, slumped back in his chair. “Is this really necessary?” He ran his hand through his golden curls, dislodging the thin circlet of his crown.</p>
<p>“I’m your director of public relations,” his sister said, “and yes, I say it is necessary. You’re thirty-two years old, Jaime, and it’s time you took a wife.”</p>
<p>“That’s funny,” he said dryly, “your mouth is working, but it’s Father’s voice I hear.”</p>
<p>Cersei shot him an exasperated scowl. “It’s not like you haven’t had plenty of chances. You must have been presented to scores of princesses and grand duchesses and gods know who else. You could have picked any one of them.”</p>
<p>“I didn’t want any of them. Not one of them took my fancy.”</p>
<p>“Well, who do you want?” she demanded.</p>
<p>Jaime only sighed. “I don’t know. Someone I can trust. Someone who knows what I’m like without the crown, and is still willing to stay with me.”</p>
<p>There was a beat of silence. Jaime looked up just in time to catch Cersei rolling her eyes.</p>
<p>“Fine,” she said. “Leave it with me. I’ll figure something out.”</p>
<p>**</p>
<p>The proclamation went out on Twitter and Instagram and even on the evening news: there was to be a Sevenmas ball at the Red Keep, and all the unmarried women in Westeros were to be invited. There, the King would pick a bride from among the assembled guests* –</p>
<p>“It’s a security nightmare,” said the Lord Commander of his Kingsguard. “Gods only know what sort of crazies will come out of the woodwork.”</p>
<p>“Brienne,” Jaime said fondly, “so long as you’re standing beside me, I can face anything.” He paused. “You will be there, won’t you?”</p>
<p>For a moment, she looked as though she would rather gnaw off her own foot. </p>
<p>“Of course,” she said, with a horribly fake smile.</p>
<p>**</p>
<p>It was snowing on the night of the ball. Soft white flakes drifted from the black sky and danced in swirling flurries, combining with the golden lights on the castle walls to create a magical romantic glow.</p>
<p>Jaime insisted that Brienne stick as close to him as possible.</p>
<p>“Who knows what crazies will come out of the woodwork?” he asked, grinning cheerfully at his own cleverness. “Make sure you wear full dress uniform, white cloak and all.”</p>
<p>He wore Lannister crimson and gold, his crown nestled among his curls.</p>
<p>Beside him, Brienne was dressed head to toe in pure white, her fair hair, flushed cheeks and her extraordinary eyes the only pop of colour. But instead of a delicate snow maiden, she was a strong and protective white knight, tall and imposing at his side.</p>
<p>It seemed as though all the unmarried women in Westeros really had descended on the Red Keep for the ball. Fresh-faced ingénues from the great houses stood side by side with country gentlewomen and commoners and even women of the Free Folk. As well as young women, there were also a few older widows –</p>
<p>“Gods,” he muttered, catching sight of a familiar pinched face and Tully red hair. “Lysa Arryn!” He looked instinctively to Brienne, who stood at grave attention even as her eyes filled with slow, lurking laughter.</p>
<p>There was a strength to her, a solid, unruffled immovability which had drawn him to her from the first time he saw her at the Kingsguard academy. She was so calm and controlled, so gentle despite her strength, that he had appointed her to his main Seven despite her youth and relative inexperience; he had never once regretted his choice. </p>
<p>“Perhaps we should dance,” he said, holding his hand out to her. “She can’t follow me on to the dance floor, surely.”</p>
<p>She gave him a wry look. “Don’t worry,” she said, taking his hand in her own. “I’ll protect you.”</p>
<p>A sudden thought occurred to him. “What if she tries to cut you out?”</p>
<p>“Jaime,” she said. A sudden laugh shook her, and her eyes shone. “Trust me. She won’t succeed.”</p>
<p>They danced in the great hall of the Red Keep, beneath discreet electric lighting, branching candelabra and oil lamps. Brienne was taller than Jaime, and with the white cloak clasped around her shoulders she was even broader; he looked up into her face, so trusted and familiar, and suddenly he knew.</p>
<p>When the clock struck 12, he pulled her close, leaned up and kissed her. Snow fell, and dancers revolved around them as the music played on, but Jaime and his Lord Commander stood alone in the middle of the floor, hands clasped and foreheads pressed together, staring into each other’s eyes. </p>
<p> **</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>*Fire and Blood actually contains a Cinderella-like ball (albeit with a classic Westerosi twist – steps are taken to ensure would-be rivals never arrive).</p></blockquote></div></div>
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